The Morning After
by daisyink
Summary: But you don't understand. I'm straight.' In which Ron is confused and Harry blushes a lot, and Draco is having way too much fun. And Ron is straight, but they don't hold that against him.


**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter --not mine.  
A/N: Hee, aren't crackfics great? XD Came to me in the middle of the night. I have no excuse.

_the morning after_

"..shhh, you'll wake him up!"

"Well isn't that the _point?"_

A sigh. "Not when…not prepared…"

Snort. "Like it'd make any difference to him."

"Shh!"

A whoosh of air. Sigh. "Fine, fine…if you weren't so…" The sound of footsteps, and the swish of a robe—the two try to hide.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

They are an unlikely match, the two of them; the noble black-haired, green-eyed Gryffindor alongside the wily blonde Slytherin. But what they're about to do—about to _pull off_, because there's no way it won't work—is too good to pass up.

"Okay, so how does this work?"

A sigh, exasperated this time.

"I know what to do, Potter! We must've rehearsed this a hundred times by now."

"Yes, but…Just-just to be sure."

A shake of the head. "Not this time, Ha-Potter. We've waited long enough for this."

A huff. "Fine, then. But if you mess up, don't blame it on me." Silently, to himself, _Though I know you will anyway_.

"Okay, then. Are we done? Let's go."

They tip-toe quietly through the Gryffindor common room; up the spiral staircase; and, finally, they stand in front of a dorm—_Harry_'s dorm.

"Let's go," they whisper in unison.

Inside, they work quietly: a gentle toss of the sheets there, a twist of a pillow; as they administer the final touch (scattering various garments around the general area of someone's bed), they survey their handiwork.

"Perfect," Harry whispers, eyes glowing in the dim light.

"Yes, yes," Draco almost snaps. "But you're forgetting the most important part."

At this, Harry smiles. It is enough to make Draco shiver. "Oh, I definitely haven't forgotten."

_the next morning_

"Parvati, have you seen Ron this morning?" Hermione asks her classmate, brow furrowed in worry. "I haven't seen him all day; in fact, I haven't seen either Ron _or _Harry at all."

Parvati smirks. "Didn't you hear? Ron got totally smashed last night; seems Harry had to carry him back to the dorm. Rumor has it he had Draco Malfoy help, too, though nobody can confirm it."

Lav, sitting on Parvati's other side, turns, nodding at Hermione. "The whole school knows about it, though I have no idea how. They're all trying to find out if Draco really did help Harry."

"More importantly, how our little Harry managed to convince Mister Malfoy to help in the first place," Parvati adds.

"Come to think of it…I haven't seen any of those boys since last night. Where _are _they?"

_in the dorm_

Ron sits up blearily, wiping his eyes. "Where am I?" he mumbles.

"My, my, look who's awake." A voice to his right—and sounding completely too chipper for this time of day. It isn't Harry, or Seamus or Neville or—he screws up his face in concentration.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten about me already?" It is silky smooth, and the way he—where did he get the idea it was a _he_?—talks is familiar. No one else forms their syllables that way, slow and calculatingly unsettling.

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy." _Another_ voice, then. But wait a minute—did he say _Malfoy_?

"Who are you people? And why do you sound like guys? And how the hell did you get in my bed?" At least, he _assumed_ it was his bed. It certainly felt like one; with lots of pillows and sheets and…Oh God, what if he'd done what he thought he might've done in _someone else's bed_!

"So you're not a morning person, huh, Weasel? That's too bad." The voice to his right continues to be annoyingly cheerful. Oh, God, _no_, anyone but Malfoy! This isn't right; it really isn't. He was _drunk, _dammit—from what he remembers, anyway—and drunk people aren't supposed to be responsible for their actions! They were supposed to be happy and uninhibited and _no one spoke of it ever again_.

Apparently, these two skipped that day of How to Be Drunk 101.

"Okay, let me get this straight," he tries to say sternly and sounding strained instead.

"I was drunk last night, wasn't I?" It's more a statement than a question, but he tacks a question mark anyway, just in case.

Malfoy giggles. "Did you hear that, Harry? He said _straight_. And after last night!" More furious giggling.

Oh, no. Nonononono. This is _not _happening. If what Malfoy says is true, then a) what Ron thinks happened last night probably _did _happen last night, and b) he did it with his best friend in the whole world; and Malfoy.

If the fact that they are both guys isn't enough to turn it into his Worst Nightmare, then the fact that it is his BEST FRIEND and MOST HATED ENEMY probably seal the deal.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, he thinks miserably.

"Uh…Ron?" Harry asks.

Ron continues to stare blankly at a wall; he appears to be trying to erase the whole thing from his mind. That, and to ignore the two—ahem, _naked_—boys still in his bed; he hopes it is his bed.

"Aw, poor ickle Ronnikins! Did you just happen to remember what happened last night?" Ron can't see him, but he knows that Draco is smirking. A lot.

"Ron…?" Harry says. "Come on, Ron, speak to me."

"Guh," says the figure that was formerly known as Ron, Harry's Best Friend, Who Until Recently Had Considered Himself Very, Very, Straight.

"We have a problem," Harry says to Draco.

The two start to snicker.

_Great Hall_

"I still can't find Ron or Harry," Hermione says, staring at her toast. She seems to be trying to burn it with her eyes; Lav and Parvati decide not to interfere.

"Well, I asked around at the Slytherin table, and no one's seen Draco either," Lav says.

"Where in the world could those boys _be_?" they wonder.

_in the dorm_

"Oh, God," Ron finally says. "OhGodohGodohGod."

"Why yes, we did, _Oh, God_," Draco says. The smirk on his face is growing every second.

"Eurgh." Ron makes a strangled noise and then lands his face into a pillow.

"Pleazontletitbtue," he moans into the pillow.

"Er, what?" Harry asks.

"I think he said, 'Please don't let it be true,'" says Draco.

"And how the heck do you know that?"

"I have a lot of experience in these things." Draco winks at Harry; Harry blushes.

"Oh, come _on_, Weasel, it wasn't that bad." Draco says, attempting to lift Ron's head without actually touching him. It doesn't work.

Draco can't help but add, "Actually, judging from last night, I'd say you didn't think it was bad at all."

"Draco!" A smack from Harry.

"Ow," Draco says, pouting.

Ron chooses to lift his head at this very moment. His eyes are a little wild; the fact that his hair is sticking up at every possible angle from his head does not help matters.

"But you don't understand," he says, moaning a little. "I'm _straight_."

"Apparently not when you're drunk."

Ron glares at Draco's general direction. "Not funny."

"Actually, mate, that was me."

"Harry!"

An apologetic grin. "Sorry, couldn't resist." Ron huffs and folds his arms, looking sullen, until he realizes why he was mad in the first place. He moans and sinks into the bed—he's been doing a lot of that lately—but he can't think of anything else to do. He's doomed.

Poke. "Ow." Draco persistently continues to poke Ron; he figures, just keep bugging him until he can't stand it anymore and _does _something. About fifty pokes later, Ron gives in.

"What," he growls, "do you want, Malfoy?"

"For you to stop moping so I can get some breakfast, Weasley."

"And why would you need me to stop 'moping' to eat?"

Draco sends a glare in Harry's direction; Harry blushes and prepares to stammer a protest, but is cut off by Draco. "_Because_, Weasel, your little buddy here won't let me get out unless he's sure you're okay."

"Touching," he adds, in the tone one uses when talking about a particularly loathsome flobberworm.

Ron sits up and wrinkles his nose. Harry squirms, because he knows what Ron's thinking; and Draco smiles. What fun.

"Why can't you just go by yourself?"

"Because Harry promised me he'd eat breakfast with me today," Draco says, as he pouts rather charmingly at Harry. Harry blushes, and he wonders to himself how in the world _he _ended up to be the one doing all the blushing this morning; and he wishes he has Draco's capacity to cover his emotions. Sometimes, he thinks, it simply isn't _fair_.

"Wait..." says Ron.

"Why would you two eat together? And Harry, mate—I thought _you _were straight too! And…"

Harry chooses this moment to dash out and grab Draco, revealing that they were not, in fact, naked under the sheets that covered them; merely wearing low pants. Imagine that.

"I'm sure you're okay now, Ron," Harry says hurriedly as he puts on his robes. "But, anyway, we'll—erm, see you at breakfast, okay? Okay."

With that, they head down the stairs, with Ron scratching his head and wondering what the hell all that was about.

And then he remembers: it was the morning after.

He moans and buries his head in a pillow.

_epilogue, kinda_

"Harry! We were wondering where you'd been," Parvati says as Harry enters the Great Hall. Her eyes widen when he is followed by none other than Draco Malfoy, wearing a far too satisfied smirk on his face; and Parvati knows asking will only lead to trouble.

"Yes, well, I'll be going then," says Parvati. Rather hurriedly, Draco notes. His smirk widens.

Breakfast commences accordingly, with Hermione exclaiming and demanding where Harry was (no matter what she says, he won't say a word). Draco clings to Harry, saying nothing; all he does is eat his breakfast, slowly savoring it, looking for all the world like the cat who ate the proverbial cream.

They finish quickly and leave for classes, leaving only Hermione at the Gryffindor table when Ron stumbles to his seat.

"Oh, hello, Ron." Hermione looks at him, and her face fills with mingled concern and surprise. "What were you up to this morning? Harry's already eaten and everything."

At the sound of Harry's name, Ron groans. "Eurgh."

Hermione raises an eyebrow, but decides not to question it—she has a feeling that she will rather not know. "Well, anyway, post already came; here's Pig, he's been waiting for you for ages."

Ron takes the package blearily, swatting half-heartedly at the twittering bird. He slits open the envelope—rather tiny, in fact, no wonder Pig didn't have a hard time delivering it—and takes out a slip of parchment.

Creamy and thick, it has every mark of aristocracy—no one he knows uses anything like it. But the handwriting; oh, the handwriting, he knows very well: he's seen it many times, copying notes and exchanging them in class. A bit neater than his, though nothing close to Hermione's.

On the parchment, written clearly, were the words:

_April Fools_

And under it, the stamp of a lion and serpent, intertwined.

_.finis_


End file.
